


why shouldn't we move back?

by kaci3PO



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fix-It, M/M, Minor Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, fuck the finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 00:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19140121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaci3PO/pseuds/kaci3PO
Summary: "I loved him, too," she says, deadly quiet. "And as much as it— as it fuckingpains meto say this,Ican't be the one to save him. It has to beyou. So I need you to pull yourself together, take a god damn shower, drink some coffee, and thenlistento me for five seconds so that we canget him back."





	why shouldn't we move back?

**Author's Note:**

> So. After the finale aired, I basically had to take a complete hiatus from writing or even reading Queliot fic. I just needed a break, to be honest. Please consider this my love-letter to the Magicians fandom and all the friends I made during my short time here. <3

"Get up."

Eliot cracks one eye open, is instantly blinded by the sunlight streaming into the windows of Kady's apartment, and quickly closes it again as he buries himself back into his pile of blankets. They may or may not smell of gin, vomit, and unwashed adult man. Fuck.

"I said get up," Alice says, voice clipped. He dutifully ignores her.

The briefest of pauses ensues, then Alice calls, "Margo? I need you after all."

"Of course you do," Margo's voice answers, and he can tell by the sound of it that she's moved into the room. He tightens his grip on his blanket nest and prays, yet again, for the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

He barely makes it halfway through this prayer before Margo grips his wrist and pulls him bodily from the bed. He wishes he could be surprised, but this is hardly the first time she's had to haul him out of a cocoon of whisky-soaked comforters to kick his ass back into shape.

"El," she says, in that voice she has that  _ sounds _ sweet unless you've spent more than two seconds around her, at which point you realize that it's the honey she uses to trap the flies. " _ Enough _ ."

"You don't—" he starts, but Alice cuts in.

"I've been trying to  _ fix  _ the problem," she says, "unlike  _ some _ people."

"You don't get to tell me how to deal with my grief—" he snaps, before she interrupts him again.

"I've figured out a way to save him," she says simply. "But we can't do this with you wallowing in self-pity and—"

"He  _ died _ !" Eliot shouts at her. "That  _ thing _ took me and I only got  _ five seconds _ to try to tell him that—"

Alice crosses the short distance between them and gets right up in his face. It's quite a feat, considering how much taller than her he is. "I loved him, too," she says, deadly quiet. "And as much as it— as it fucking  _ pains me _ to say this,  _ I  _ can't be the one to save him. It has to be  _ you _ . So I need you to pull yourself together, take a god damn shower, drink some coffee, and then  _ listen _ to me for five seconds so that we can  _ get him back _ ."

Eliot blinks at her. Turns to look at Margo. Back to Alice. Margo again.

"Don't look at me," Margo says. "I love you, but crying yourself into the bottom of the bottle isn't helping anyone, especially if she's right and we have a chance to get him back."

"What—"

"Go take a shower," Alice says. "Get a cup of coffee. And then you and I need to talk."

***

He feels moderately more sober after his shower, and all the more miserable because of it. Every second he's not inebriated is a second wasted, a second he has to spend thinking about what he could've had. What he gave up. What he'd give  _ anything  _ to have again.

Margo forced Josh to cut him off the magical drugs a week ago, and his alcohol tolerance is way too high to sustain a bender like he wishes he could be on. The mere sight of Alice — Alice who loved Q, who got to be with him before he died, who was never afraid to love him back and  _ God _ is it unfair of him to resent her for any of that and yet he  _ does _ — makes him long for the last bottle of rum he tucked under his mattress when no one was looking.

But she'd said she knew how to save Q. So he goes to her.

The living room is empty save for the two of them. He can't remember the last time — if ever — he was alone with her. He can't blame her for hating him, after everything he's done, but the way she's looking at him...there's recognition there. Understanding of shared pain.

"When we were trying to figure out how to bind the monster," Alice starts before his ass even hits the chair. It's like she's plowing forward against her own better judgement and hates that she can't stop the words coming out of her mouth.

"What does—"

"Let me finish," she cuts him off. "We had to send Quentin's consciousness back in time."

He stares at her. "You...you fucking  _ time traveled _ ?"

She presses her lips firmly together. "No. We swapped his present consciousness with his past self, so that he could ask Mayakovsky, in the past, how to bind the monster."

"Okay, so what—"

"I'm not stupid," she cuts in.

That actually takes him aback. "Of course you're not," he says slowly. "I thought that went without saying."

She sighs. "Do you know what he told me when I came back? When I  _ saved his life _ ? That day, in the park, when you broke through— Eliot, I have no idea what you were talking about, peaches and plums, but that night, when we were alone, he didn't thank me for saving his life."

Eliot really doesn't want to hear about Quentin's suicidal ideations right now.

"Alice—"

"He thanked me for saving  _ yours _ ." She stares down at her own hands for one brief moment, then takes a deep breath and meets his eyes. "He told me he was 'Team Eliot.'" She makes a scoffing noise. "God, you should've seen him. You'd have loved it. He was— 'single minded' doesn't  _ begin _ to cover it. It was all he cared about. Saving you."

_ Oh _ .

He clears his throat. "Well—"

"He loved you," she says softly. "Probably— probably more than he loved me, at the end." She bites her lip.

"Alice," he says, careful and gentle and all the things he's never been, not with her. To her credit, she doesn't let him get away with it.

"Don't you dare," she interrupts. "Don't you look at me like you're fucking  _ sorry _ , because we both know you're not. You'd have—" She stops, swallows. Sometimes she reminds him of an angry cat.

"Don't you  _ pity me _ ," she says finally. "Not now. We're way fucking past that."

He stares down at his own hands. When she doesn't speak, he clears his throat and asks, "So how—"

"He came to the mirror universe because we were back together," she says. He tries not to resent her for that, too, and fails utterly.

"Okay…"

"He was there because of me," she says again.

"Yeah, I get that—"

"Eliot," she interrupts. Her hands are balled up into fists on her lap and he can't even blame her. "You have to go back." She sighs. "I can't— I fucking  _ hate _ this, but it's the only way. You have to go back and you have to take him from me."

He stares at her. Is she—

"Alice." It's the only thing he can think of to say.

"What did 'peaches and plums' mean?" she asks, with the air of someone who's just been told the date of their own execution.

Eliot swallows. "He— During the key quest, we got sent to Fillory in the past. Decades before the Chatwins arrived. We spent our whole lives there. Got married, raised a kid. I… I  _ died _ , and he—" He can see her fingernails digging into her palms. "Somehow we remembered it," he continues. "And he— God, he looked me square in the eye after living fifty years together and told me it wasn't enough, he wanted more."

"And you shot him down," she says softly. "And then got taken by that monster." She meets his eyes, but he looks away. "And that day in the park— that's why." She laughs, a hollow, wounded sound that is the furthest thing from mirth he can imagine. "He— he  _ told  _ me. 'Team  _ Eliot _ .' God, and I  _ pushed— _ "

He finally turns back to face her and sees his self-loathing echoed in her own features.

"I'm an idiot," she says softly.

"Alice—"

She swallows. Bites her lip. Finally relaxes her hands on her lap. "So it has to be you," she says again. "You have to go back to that moment and—"

"And I have to say yes," Eliot finishes for her. She nods, looking like she wishes the floor would eat her alive.

"And then your past self has to keep him," she says. "You can't stay back then for very long. Less than a day. Write yourself a note, film a video, I don't care, but you have to convince your past self to not fuck this up. He can't come back to me." She grabs his wrist and looks him square in the eye. "Do you understand me? If he chooses me, he dies. You have to keep him so that when he saves you from the monster, he stays by your side in the infirmary."

"And what about you?" Eliot asks. "You and Penny would still be there. What if one of you…"

She bites her lip. "Write a note for me, too. Tell us to chuck the damn bottles into the void and get out of there before Everett even shows up."

"Alice—" He doesn't say  _ what if this just ends up being an exchange? You or Penny for his life? _ because he is not that fucking selfless. He probably  _ should  _ be. He's  _ definitely  _ not.

"I'm only going to say this once," she says, looking him dead in the eye. "He is the best thing that ever happened to me. I am— I will  _ always _ — This  _ shouldn't  _ have happened. He should  _ be _ here. I would rather— fuck, I would rather walk in on you, him, and Margo a  _ thousand  _ times than spend one more second in a world without—" Tears run down her cheeks. Eliot can barely breathe.  _ Gods _ , she is a stronger person than he is. He doesn't know if he could do this if the roles were switched.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Okay, Alice. I'll do it. I'll save him. And I'll try to warn you and Penny, too."

She swallows. "You can not fuck this up with him. You get that, right? You can't break his heart."

"I don't intend to," he whispers. "Not this time."

***

"What if we...gave it a shot? I mean, would that be that crazy?"

Eliot opens his eyes and feels like his chest is going to burst from the sight of Quentin, sitting there looking nervous and excited with his heart on his sleeve.

It's everything Eliot can do not to immediately pull Quentin into his arms and sob. He's here. He's real and he's breathing and Eliot wants to kiss every inch of him, to hold him and feel his heartbeat. It feels like an eternity has passed since he last saw Quentin alive and his Happy Place memories were a poor substitute for the real thing.

But Alice warned him. Made him swear on Margo's life that he would play this naturally, not arise suspicion. Fuck, if Quentin knew she was risking her and Penny's lives in exchange for his, he'd do the stupid bullshit fantasy hero thing and charge into the mirror world on purpose.

He can't know. All of this has to be his choice.

"Why the fuck not?" Quentin asks. His eyes are so big, so open, so full of everything Eliot refused to let himself see. How could he have said no to this?

"I know you..." he answers. He could repeat this moment word-for-word if he had to. He knows his lines, and he knows where to deviate from the script in a way that Quentin will believe, "and you aren't…"

"What's it matter?" Quentin counters.

Here. This moment.

"Q," he says gently. Takes Quentin's hand in his. Feels the pulse in his wrist and feels like the weight of eternity has been lifted off his shoulders.

"It's not going to be like the mosaic," Quentin says softly. "I know that. I'm not asking you to get married and raise a kid with me. But can't we— can't we  _ try _ ?"

Eliot wants to scream,  _ "Yes! Anything, please, just keep choosing me—" _

What he says is, "Are you sure?"

Quentin reaches out with his free hand and touches the side of Eliot's face. Everything feels delicate, like if Eliot breathes wrong he'll shatter this moment and this whole crazy plan will fall apart.

But then Quentin smiles and says, "I love you, El."

And that's... _ fuck _ .

He can't hold back another second. He's closed the distance between them before he even knows he's moving, kissing Quentin hard and desperate. Quentin falls into it easily, moving like muscle memory to get his hands under Eliot's shirt to feel the soft skin of his stomach. Eliot gets a hand around the back of Quentin's neck and pulls him closer and somehow that  _ still  _ isn't enough.

"We need to find a bed," Quentin pants. Eliot can already feel him getting hard. And Eliot— he has  _ plans _ , he had plenty of time to think about this while Alice and Kady gathered the supplies for the spell— but now that he has Quentin in his arms, sex is the furthest thing from his mind. Right now he just— sex is so  _ distracting _ . Right now all he wants is to look at Quentin and hold Quentin and feel Quentin breathing until the knowledge of his heartbeat is imprinted on Eliot's own. They can fuck any time. Eliot only gets to experience this resurrection once.

Instead, Eliot nuzzles at Quentin's jawline until he tips his head back and lets Eliot get at his neck. "In a minute," he mumbles against Quentin's skin. "Just— just want to breathe you in for awhile."

His heart aches at the feel of Quentin in his arms, his compact little body that sings at Eliot's every touch. He loves the way Quentin gasps when Eliot sucks at the pulsepoint of his neck, the way his hands clench down on Eliot's hips when Eliot drags his tongue across Quentin's Adam's apple.

"Need you to stop— fuck, stop doing that if you don't want to have sex," Quentin murmurs.

Eliot chuckles softly against him, but dutifully pulls back. He  _ loves  _ the fact that he can work Quentin up so easily, but right now he really does just want to savor the moment.

"Sorry," Quentin says, looking embarrassed.

Eliot takes his hands in his own. "Don't be sorry," he says, unable to stop the grin that spreads across his face. "I think I'm just in shock." Truthfully, he never  _ stopped _ being in shock, not since the moment Quentin told him he wanted to make it work. Even now, with a delighted, turned-on Quentin practically in his lap, Eliot still can't quite believe he's gotten this lucky.

"From the memories?"

"From  _ this _ ," Eliot says, gesturing between them. "I never thought—"

Quentin kisses him, cutting him off before pulling back just enough to rest their foreheads together. "We can do this," Quentin promises. "We made it work in Fillory, we can figure it out here, too. Do you love me?"

"Of course I do." It's out of his mouth before Eliot can even register he's been asked a question.

Quentin smiles, then bites his own lip in a vain attempt to stop it. "Then kiss me," Quentin says. "Just keep kissing me until you believe it."

***

Eliot opens his eyes and finds himself in Kady's living room. Only— when he left, there was a ritual circle chalked into the otherwise pristine flooring. There were candles and herbs and everyone was gathered around him with concerned looks on their faces. It was light out— he remembers that, too, the feeling of sunlight on his face as he begged whatever deity would lend a friendly ear to please,  _ please  _ let this work.

Now it's dark. The floor is clean. The only light in the room comes from lampposts casting their pale glow through the windows.

And he's completely, entirely alone. Not even Margo is here to welcome him back.

He clears his throat and calls, "Alice?" If anyone knows what's going on, it would be her. But there's no answer, and for one horrible moment Eliot thinks he somehow fucked it up and got them  _ all _ killed because of his own stupid commitment issues, but then—

A bedroom door opens down the hall and Quentin — living, breathing Quentin with shorter hair who appears to be wearing nothing but one of Eliot's button ups and some socks — pokes his head out.

"El?" he whispers. "What are you doing? Come back to bed."

Eliot stands slowly, almost afraid to go to him, like Quentin will turn out to be a mirage if he gets too close.

"Q?" His throat is dry and his voice cracks unattractively.

Quentin meets him halfway down the hallway and goes up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Eliot's mouth. 

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks.

"I— yeah," Eliot says. "I mean, no. I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

Quentin grins, a little deviously and says, "I can think of a few ways to tire you back out, if you're interested."

Eliot swallows. "Yeah," he says, finally letting himself reach out to card his fingers through Quentin's hair. "I'm definitely interested."

Quentin takes his hand and, still smiling, starts to pull him towards what seems to be their bedroom.

"Don't forget the soundproofing spell like you did last time," he cautions. "Kady and Alice will kill us if we wake them up again."

No sooner has their bedroom door closed behind them than Eliot starts casting the necessary spells. This has waited— God. Far too fucking long. Now that he has Quentin back, he's not going to waste another second not loving him to the fullest. Everything else can wait until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're thinking "Kaci, did you really just write a fic inspired by a song from A Very Potter Sequel and then title it after same and this is how you're planning on bowing out of this fandom?" then...yep. I am entirely out of fucks to give.


End file.
